


Past Memories

by Onity



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: 100 years in the future, Alternate Universe - Future, Anduin has a prosthetic arm and leg, Cute, Fluff and Angst, Future, Future Fic, M/M, Mentions a lot of other characters, Mentions anxiety and panic attacks, Old Age, Old Anduin, Wrathion will do anything for his love, i think, mentions of past injuries, mentions past alcholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 03:49:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19737724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onity/pseuds/Onity
Summary: Anduin, in his old age, realizes he has forgotten the sound of his father's voice.Alternatively,It's 100 years in the future, and Wrathion gives the King of the Army of the Light a gift that he will never forget.





	Past Memories

-...-

To: ?  
From: Wrathion, the Black Prince.

To say Anduin Llane Wrynn lives a long and prosperous life is an understatement. Since becoming King of Stormwind and High King of the Alliance, so much has happened, that even the hundreds of personal journals he’s written since childhood don’t contain it all. The man has seen it all, more than once, and nothing surprises him anymore. Not even I, which is a shame, I do try to keep him on his feet.   
Even my own explanation would be lackluster, and everything I say deserves rewards, but I should summarize these last 100 or more years. Wrynn has defeated the Burning Legion, faced down Sylvanas Windrunner, tempted by the void lords, overcoming all odds and using their own power against them, becoming a very powerful discipline priest. If anyone still by this point believed the 20 year old king to be weak, they didn’t dare think the word now.   
After the void lords were pushed back, the Horde and Alliance spent the next number of years working towards one goal: Unification. It helped that after the fall of Windrunner, the Tauren leader Baine Bloodhoof stepped up to the title of Warchief. Anduin believed by this point that if the Alliance and the Horde continued to run as two separate factions then they doom themselves to fight again one day. It would have been nice for this to happen, say, when he was 15, but I doubt his father would have ever even thought of unifying the two factions. Anduin and Baine had no option but to spend years in secret planning their unification, as going public with the idea at the time was too early. When they made their speeches, a new era of history began, so it felt. Many had backlash, but overall, all agreed that this unification would act as a defense to their own people. Less people can , you know, get away with genociding your people and burning down your tree homes.   
Anduin continued to share rule with Baine for decades, until he announced his resignation at the age of 70. He left rule entirely up to Baine, believing the now HighChief had all of their people, citizens and leaders alike, in mind. He ,at the same time, passed along the torch of leader of Stormwind to his 20 year old granddaughter. Wrynn then became the very first leader to officially retire, spending the next 10 years traveling Azeroth and tending to his decaying health. The light could not hold his broken bones together forever.   
At the age of 81, the void lords returned, and hit harder than before. They had hoped to take out Wrynn, but the light had decided it wasn’t ready to let him go yet. Some would say he became lightforged, though I disagree. His aching stopped for now, but he was no immortal, like King of the Army of the Light, Turalyn. Or, so I believed. Before the Void was pushed back once again, they took the King’s life with them. The Army of the Light needed a new leader, and who else better then someone considered one of the most powerful priests in history, a priest with experience in both light and void magic, and a priest that the light refused to let go. Velen approached Wrynn about coming out of retirement, and of course, he agreed. He would move from his home in Stormwind to the base of the army’s force, the rebuilt Xenedar, on Argus.  
I end here, for now we’ve caught up to the present time. King Wrynn now lives to be age 110, and my cautions were correct, he is not immortal. I know not when his body will fail him, but I wish to be with him before his years are up. Signs of the void lords returning again are appearing here and there, and Azeroth and Argus prepare for their final stand. The void will not survive a third time. Once the void lords are gone, Azeroth will regain a sense of peace she’s yet to have . There will always be world ending threats, sure, and I will be there to protect her from them. I fear, my love will not. 

-...-

Flying from Azeroth’s portal to Argus to the Xenedar was a flight Wrathion loathed. Argus was beginning to drain herself of fel, but she was thousands of years from looking as beautiful as she once had. The fel riddened world reminded him of his regrets. He had not been around to help save Azeroth from the Burning Legion, a threat he had preached about before it’s arrival. He had, in that hour of need, failed Azeroth. Failed Anduin. Since returning from his disappearance, Wrathion has vowed never to have regrets ever again.   
The flight took a few hours, given he had to stop and find shelter due to Argus’ acid rains. Argus was regaining her weather system, and at the moment, she had no control of it. The flight was supposed to take half an hour. Wrathion, as he hid in a rock cave entrance, watching the green rain fall upon the dry, dead ground, pouted. He was late, again. At a younger age, Wrathion was okay showing up late, but when his love could fall at any second, each second that passed by annoyed the dragon.   
As soon as there was a break in the rain, Wrathion was out. His wings flew him faster towards his destination, as there was bound to be more rain soon. Wrathion, 13 years younger then his love, was still nowhere near the size of a grown dragon. He was more in his early teens, if he were a human. Eventually the Xenedar was within sight, and the fel rain began to patter down upon his wings. He was so close, he would not allow the rain to keep him away any longer. Within the next two minutes, with a few minor burns, Wrathion landed into the large light shield that protected the Xenedar and the surrounding area from the rains. Within a second of landing and shaking the rain off himself like an oversized dog, he was in his humanoid form. Wrathion’s humanoid form, usually, appeared no different then it had back when he was 2 years old, save for more gold and longer horns. When he visited his love, however, he wore an older looking humanoid form. 

“Goodmorning, Lady Gamora.” Wrathoin bowed slightly to the guards standing at attention at the enterence. Over the past few years, he had grown to know them well. It felt like they never moved, though. 

“It’s late evening, Black Prince.” This guard, Gamora, corrected him with a smirk. “Anything we should know about in the bag?”

Wrathion had an expensive looking crossbody bag, carrying things Wrathion could promise wouldn’t bring harm to anyone. Well, when used without lethal intention that is. As the guard brought attention to the bag, Wrathion instinctively held tightly to it’s strap. 

“Never anything to be worried about, I assure you.” Wrathion replied, pretending nothing has ever happened before that made the guards search his belongings. By now he hoped the guards knew he was no harm. Not to anyone here. 

“Sure,” Gamora motioned for the door to open, “proceed.” 

Wrathion walked into the Xenedar, suddenly feeling so very small compared to the vast space of the rebuilt building’s entrance. A long hall, covered in beautiful decorations, costing a fortune, he was sure. Costing more than anything he wore on himself, this obviously being a personal attack from the king. He kept his eyes in front of him, or tried to, as he reached the end of the hall, entering the now grand throne room. The room had to be ten times bigger than Stormwind’s throne room. The ceiling lined with crystals and chandeliers, well guarded by the most highly regarded of the lightforged army. The floor shining, almost as a mirror, Wrathion’s entrance was no hidden secret as his shoes tapped against it.   
In the middle of the room, a throne, small in comparison to Stormwind’s throne. Beside the throne, something like a desk on wheels, and a jeweled caine. Sitting on the throne, exactly who Wrathoin was here to see, speaking to the guard that stood beside him. As Wrathion came to a stop a respectful distance away, the King of the Army of the Light ended his conversation with the guard, turning to see his visitor. Wrathion greeted with a short bow. 

“It’s been awhile, young king.” Wrathion stepped forward.

Anduin Wrynn rolled his eyes, almost laughed, to the use of the word “young”. A habit Wrathion refuses to let go, or a playful kick in the side, Anduin didn’t know. 

“I was beginning to worry, you’re not usually this late.” Anduin replied, ‘to see me’ an unneeded addition to the sentence, but he thought about it. 

“The weather on this planet is dreadful. I have no idea why you continue your rule here and not home.” Wrathion complained. He knew Anduin missed Azeroth every second he wasn’t there, but the Xenedar wasn’t an easy thing to just move to Azeroth. Beside, Argus needed the Army of the Light badly. Anduin sat more comfortably in his throne, no need to respond to Wrathion.

“Anyway,” Wrathion handed Anduin the bag, “Happy birthday.”

Anduin paused for a second, having temporarily forgotten it was his birthday. Birthdays began feeling unimportant a long time ago, but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate the thought. Wrathion waited patiently for Anduin to open the bag, and so, with a hint of caution, the king did. Anduin found a few different wax-sealed letters, at least three with Stormwind’s crest and one with the crest of the Union, Anduin already guessed was from the HighChief. The bag also included a small box with a ribbon, and some of Wrathion’s shiny junk. Anduin placed everything back in the bag and began to attempt standing up. Wrathion watched him carefully, ready to help aid the older human should he fail. Anduin held tightly onto his cane before closing the gap between he and Wrathion, allowing himself to silently beg for support. Wrathion hooked his arm around Anduin’s free arm.

“Where to, young king?” Wrathion asked. 

“Study, please.” Anduin smiled. 

Wrathion supported Anduin up the stairs, the king struggling a bit by the time they reached the third floor. Anduin wasn’t this weak usually, but these days Anduin almost selfishly locked away his energy, knowing he could need it to fight at any moment. Besides, having someone to support him gave him contact he hadn’t come close to feeling since his queen died. On his hand, his wedding band, which he’s refused to remove since then. On his other hand, a small ring with a red crystal on it. A chip from the original red communication crystal Wrathion had given him long ago. It still worked, sometimes. Wrathion kept forgetting to create a replacement. 

When they reached Anduin’s study, Wrathion closed the door behind them and helped the king to sit down on the couch. The king sighed, letting go of his cane, relaxing his legs, and taking the crossbody bag off, placing it beside him. Wrathion sat in a chair across the glass coffee table, watching as Anduin took back out the letters and the box. In silence, enjoying the calm atmosphere, Anduin opened each letter, reading them throughout, his face coming near to tears at some points, which amused Wrathion.   
The letters were long, one being from his great granddaughter, Queen of Stormwind, and one from her young son, Prince of Stormwind. The young prince was just beginning to perfect his handwriting, though still too young to write anything more than a page. On the back was a drawing in colored crayons, having learned last time that sometimes ink bleeds through the paper. The third letter from Stormwind was a report, something Anduin had asked to be sent at least once a month. He liked hearing about what was going on back home. His letter from the Union, written by the HighChief, was both a report of general events of the faction and of Azeroth. The report ended with a more personal language, wishing his old friend a happy birthday.   
Anduin placed the letters down, then held the small box. He looked up at Wrathion, a question he didn’t need to ask.

“Stormwind.” Wrathion answered. 

Anduin, knowing now where the box was from, opened it slowly, letting the ribbon fall from it’s bow. He lifted the top of the box, inside revealing a ring sitting comfortably in white silk. A small note taped to the underside of the box. Anduin gently opened the note, not to tear it from the box. 

“ A ring passed down from my mother, from her parents before her, from her father, from his father. I wish to return it to you, knowing how homesick you can get. Please, come visit sometime soon.” The note read, signed with the signature of his great granddaughter.

Anduin stared at the ring for a second, confused. Wrathion watched Anduin as the old man tried to remember the ring. It was familiar, and it was apparently passed down in the family, so he should know it. Anduin could almost cry, realizing how bad his memory had gotten. Not that humans were made to remember over 110 years of life. Anduin wondered if maybe Wrathion knew, but before he could ask, it clicked. He smiled, wiping a tear from his eyes. 

“It’s my mother’s wedding ring.” Anduin said, delicately holding the ring, then sliding it onto his own finger. He remembered now. His father had given him the ring shortly before he died. Before then, Varian had worn it everyday since Tiffin passed. Anduin had worn it for a while afterwards, but in times of war, feared losing it, and kept it safe in Stormwind Keep. After his daughter was old enough, he gave it to her. After that, he had no idea what the ring was up to. 

Wrathion watched as Anduin took in the ring, remembering it and his mother, and remembering how much he missed home. A hint of sorrow on his face, Anduin placed the now empty box on the coffee table beside the letters. Anduin then turned to the bag, peeking inside before sitting up slightly to hand the bag back to Wrathion. 

“So,” Anduin spoke, “What did you get me?”

Wrathion looked offended for a second. He pushed the bag back towards Anduin. 

“What? This is clearly more of your random shiny junk.” Anduin said. 

“Junk!?” Wrathion gasped, taking the bag back. “You fail to humor me, young king. I’m sad.”

Wrathion dumped the last of the bag’s items onto the coffee table. A bunch of random jewels fell out, some tea bags, a few odd trinkets, and a strange looking cube. Wrathion stood back, almost proud of all the little items he’d brought for Anduin. Anduin leaned closer to the coffee table, taking a closer look at everything. Curious, he picked up one of the tea bags to smell it. 

“I...I remember this.” Anduin said, then paused. “You brought these all the way from..from, uh, Pandaria!” 

“If I remember correctly, you used to drink this a lot at the tavern.” Wrathion stated, then continued. “A collection of jewels from my personal collection, some interesting trinkets I thought you may have an interest in. Some recovered from Pandaria, one or two from other places, archeological sites,”

Wrathion then pointed to a trinket, a fancy fountain pen, dark blue with golden accents, and a golden griffin on the end. 

“This reminded me of you, found it at some shop, I believe in New Lordaeron.” Wrathion explained. “I know you love to write, there is not a day that goes by you don’t write a book, i swear.”

Anduin inspected the pen, smiled, placed it back down on the table, then turned to the strange box. He pointed at it questioningly. 

“That, my dear,” Wrathion said, picked up the box, pressing a button, and allowing the box to magically transform into a game set, including the board and pieces. “Is Jihui.”

Anduin seemed most excited about it, seeing the game transform from almost nothing. Wrathion placed the game set on the table, allowing Anduin to look through the set. 

“I haven’t played Jihui since I retired.” Anduin said. “You will have to refresh my memory.”

Anduin seemed pleased with the care and detail put into the game set, and sat back. He then realized their seating wasn’t the best for playing a game for hours, especially for his old back. 

“I have a smaller table with chairs, it should be more comfortable if you’d like to play.” Anduin said, standing up. 

“That would be lovely.” Wrathion said, then picking up the tea bags. “If you would set it up, I will make us some tea.”

Wrathion left with the teabags, leaving Anduin to move the game set across the room, onto a smaller table. The table had three chairs, comfortably padded, which Anduin removed one of the chairs. As he walked back towards the table, he decided to clean up the letters and other gifts from the coffee table. His desk was right there in the room too, so it didn’t take long. Anduin placed the letters in a small box, hoping to read them again later. The jewels he lined up against the back of the desk, supported by the wall. The Trinkets he decorated the sides of the desk with, wanting to check then out later. Before he would move onto the game board, however, he placed the ring box beside a framed photo. 

Wrathion returned to see Anduin sitting at his desk, staring at a photo. The dragon placed the tea set onto the table with the game set, then turned back to Anduin. 

“Everything is set, my dear.” Wrathion reminded him. 

“O-Oh, okay.” Anduin replied, sounding off. 

“What’s wrong?” Wrathion knew well that if he didn’t ask now, Anduin wouldn’t tell. 

Anduin placed the photo back down, and now Wrathion could see it. It was a small copy of a painting of his father. Wrathion felt Anduin’s sorrow, as Anduin had never quite gotten over Varian’s death. Their past rocky, but by the time Varian passed, Anduin loved him more than anyone. Now he missed him more than anyone, and at his old age, Anduin has felt the loss of many close people. 

“I’m sorry.” Wrathion said softly, standing closer to Anduin and handing him his hot tea. Anduin held the tea, but didn’t drink it. He was silent for a second, and Wrathion almost said something to get his attention again, but then Anduin spoke. 

“I can’t remember his voice.” 

His heart broke. Anduin’s voice never sounded so pitiful. Wrathion placed his hand on Anduin’s arm, wanting to comfort him, though never truly knowing how. Wrathion wasn’t someone known to comfort people. 

“I can’t remember his voice anymore, Wrath.” Anduin said, beginning to shake slightly. Wrathion knew that as a sign of Anduin’s coming panic attack. Anduin never grew out of his anxiousness, his panic attacks were very rare compared to when he was young. Anduin looked up at Wrathion, searching for help he knew Wrathion couldn’t really give. 

“Like, I know his voice was deep, I remember the characteristics, but when I try to remember him speak, I can’t” Anduin turned away. “I..How, how could I forget?”

“Do you have any recordings?” Wrathion asked. Surely there has got to be some sort of audio recording. 

“No. At least, I was never made aware of the existence of any, audio that is. All of his speeches were copied in writing. There’s enough written record of him to fill a library.” Anduin answered. 

“Really? Nothing? No gnomish recording devices? Goblin? No top secret records that Shaw would know about?” Wrathion couldn’t believe that. 

“Mathias Shaw?” Anduin asked, then gave a chuckle. “I don’t think you’d be able to ask, he’s been dead for decades now. Is your memory failing too?”

Wrathion paused, realizing his mistake, and now slightly embarrassed to not have thought about it. He often forgot how much time has passed, and how young humans die. That’s right, Anduin is officially the oldest living human. Not in history, Turalyon has him beat by thousands of years, but the oldest still alive. That meant that every human who had been alive before his birth were dead now. Everyone who had raised Anduin, aided him and cared for him as a prince and king of Stormwind. Jaina Proudmoore, Genn Greymane, Mathias Shaw, Admiral Taylor, all of the nobles and their children Anduin grew up with. Taelia Fordragon, later Wrynn, and her friend Flynn whom Anduin found to be great company. Mia and Tess Greymane, Lorna Crowley, Saurfang, Thrall, Lor'themar, Aysa Cloudsinger, Left and Right, Mekkatorque, Muradon Bronzebeard, Moira Thaurissan, and Falstad Wildhammer all have passed away someway or another. Infact, besides Anduin, Velen and Tyrande were the last of the original Alliance leadership, at least from 100 years ago. 

If it wasn’t obvious, Wrathion stopped focusing on the leaderships and politics of the Alliance and Horde sometime after the Burning Legion were defeated. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” Wrathion apologized. He knew Anduin tried hard not to think about all the people he missed dearly. 

“No, it’s okay.” Anduin took a sip of his tea finally. “Your mind is always somewhere else.”

“No it’s not, it’s right where it needs to be.” Wrathion pouted and Anduin laughed. 

Anduin walked back to the table with the game and tea sets. “Shall we?”

“Of course.” Wrathion joined him.

Though the subject came and went quickly, Wrathion would not forget Anduin’s worries. There was a recording of Varian Wrynn’s voice out there, Wrathion knew it, and he would do anything to get his talons on it. 

-...-

It had taken Wrathion years to find the perfect replacement for Left and Right. Though he’d never say aloud, he cared and missed his old bodyguards. They were fun, and at times, the parents he’d never had. Now he had East and West. East was a Zandalari troll women skilled in every important language, Animal care, never misses a bullseye, and can’t help but easily freak people out when coming out of stealth. When Right and Left did it, it never made Wrathion jump, but for some reason this woman did. The very first time she appeared behind him, he was in his dragon form hiding under the table in seconds. She also had a connection with some loa, which Wrathion has never asked about, but assumes at some point it may become important to him.   
West was a big buff draenei women, and while she wasn’t scary, she was strong could probably snap Wrathion in two. She was more of a mage then a rouge, but somehow something in her arcane training went wrong, so here she is now. Wrathion enjoyed the ease of teleportation with her spells, including all the food she could create out of nowhere. 

East and West, like Right and Left before them, knew almost too much about Anduin Wrynn. Wrathion talked on and on about the human, and of course they see Anduin anytime Wrathion visits him. They didn’t have the connection to the human that Right and Left had developed, but that didn’t take away from knowing how important of a subject Anduin was. It seemed he was their second boss at times, only because Wrathion placed Anduin’s life in their hands too.

Their mission was simple. They were to track and locate an audio recording of the late High King Varian Wrynn’s voice. Simple in the fact their orders could be given in a single sentence, not that the mission itself was a piece of cake. Getting any leads on an item that possibly doesn’t even exist, and if it did, anyone who may know about possibly being dead, made their mission the hardest mission any of Wrathion’s Blacktalons had been assigned. 

To start this impossible scavenger hunt, they started in Stormwind. West would approach the Queen about anything she may know, while East decided to sneak into Stormwind Keep’s archives, the two unable to agree on the best approach. The Queen showed worried for her distant grandfather, but she herself had nothing that could help him. When she offered West the chance to look in the archives, West did her best not to laugh and give away East. What they found was nothing. A good half of the archives were Anduin’s speeches, reports, letters, belongings, even old weapons and clothes. 

“I can’t believe they made him where that.” The Queen laughed, showing West the heavy plate armor that Anduin had worn to his first battle against Sylvanas Windrunner. The set was complete, from helmet to shoes. Well, complete without the weapon. Shalamayne was now wielded by the Queen and was passed down from Wrynn to Wrynn. 

While distracted, East made her escape, and West finished her search with the Queen. There was nothing but written records, many of which were so old that the ink writing was difficult to read. Some had gone through water damage in a small accident while moving the records from the old archive room to the new one. The Queen apologize, but promised to continue the search. 

With Stormwind a fail, East and West went to recruit other blacktalons in their search, and ended up finding a few goblins who claimed to know something. Nearly a hundred leads lead to nothing. The mission lasted months, every week that passed by irking Wrathion more and more. 

Until one day, a breakthrough. East and West had long ago searched the archive room in Orgrimmar, with no luck, but apparently there was a small archive closet located under New Lordaeron, once known as the Undercity. New Lordaeron was home to humans and forsaken alike, the part of New Lordaeron formally known as Undercity still the home of the forsaken, just a bit more cleaned up and welcoming to outsiders. The city was ruled by two separate rulers and a counsel. Lord Nathanos Blightcaller was probably not someone who wished to share the archives, but Calia Menethil would be sympathetic to Anduin’s heartbreak. She’d owed him a debt the day he resurrected her, and she’d never gotten a chance to repay it. 

Calia gave East and West a time within the next month she knew for a fact she and Nathanos Blightcaller were leaving to a meeting in Orgrimmar, called upon by the HighChief. The wait was boring, but when the time came, the two took their opportunity. The archive room was deep under the city, almost hidden by a barber shop and a bookshop, but not the most difficult room to find. One of them though.   
The room was a small closet, abandoned, probably forgotten decades ago, but contained a load of items from the time period in question. The room contained meeting records from Sylvanas’ rule as Warcheif, records of her speeches, records of war activities, and a questionable amount of personal items belonging to many of the other racial Horde and Alliance leaders at the time. Clearly things she’d kept in the case she’d wish to blackmail them, or at least use against them in some way. Letters sent from Alliance leaders to Horde leaders, which could have been used as evidence of treason, now meant nothing. A necklace, silver, with a blue circle in the middle. Old dog callers, one with the name Boots faded on it’s tag, and now that they noticed, more recent dog related items as well, including food bowls. Recently emptied alcohol bottles made the room smell. As they continued, they found more. An almost empty notebook stolen from one of the dwarven leaders, only two pages of notes scribbled down. A teddy bear, nearly falling apart, owned by a child named Liam. A collection of tiny trinkets owned by Silvermoon’s Lor'themar, including an eyepatch or two. There seemed to be an item for every leader, including neutral leaders, like Khadgar.   
The two had almost given up, when in the last unlooked corner, covered in dust, was an old cardboard box. Inside the box contained tons of old photos, taken by horde spys, of alliance and Horde leaders, in secret. Nothing too weird, most of them personal moments. Thalyssra playing with a manasaber kitten, Varian drinking maybe a little too much, Thrall cutting his hair, Lor'themar brushing his hair, Tyrande mocking Maiev, Velen reading, Alleria practicing void magic, spending time with her son. There were one or two of Vereesa playing with her children too. 

The box, including the photos, also had at least 25 small audio recording devices. 

-...-

Wrathion sighed, throwing another recording device into the trash, sitting on the floor in his younger humanoid form. His trash a pile of junk against the wall of his room. East and West had returned the box to him immediately after discovery, finding the dragon traveling Pandaria yet again. They stayed in a small inn, and the two blacktalon watched Wrathion spend hours going through every second of each device while flipping through the photos. Wrathion loved the collection of stupid spy photos, finding at least two of Anduin. One when he was fifteen, his location in the picture Wrathion wasn’t sure. It was sometime before he’d landed on Pandaria though. The other was Anduin after the defeat of the burning legion, looking absolutely drained. He was in some meeting, clearly about to fall asleep.   
As each recording played, Wrathion played with the photos, trying to understand why they were even taken, while listening in for Varian’s voice. Recording after recording, Wrathion heard nothing. There was at least one taken from one of Anduin’s lessons in nobility, someone running him through the process of a standard ball. Anduin at this age had known how a ball was run, but not from the point of view from the king, which was what the man was trying to explain. He’d have to know, right? How to host the party, chit chat, deal with being pulled in every direction, and people interested in courting you. Anduin hated these balls at the start, but sometime after marrying, he began enjoying them. Wrathion smirked, thinking about how awkward that man was. A total romantic that didn't know two shits about being romantic. Yet somehow, the idiot had charmed a dragon. 

East sat in the corner, carving at a small piece of wood, her work not far enough for Wrathion to determine what she was making. The sun through the windows began to set, and just as the sun began to disappear, East stood up and went to set the lantern, placing the light on the floor down by Wrathion. After making sure he could still see what he was doing, she returned to her carving. A few minutes later, West walked in with food, and while Wrathion was too focused to stop for their late dinner, the two bodyguards ate without him, all three silently listening to the recordings. 

Suddenly the current recording device paused, then continued, signaling a change in the location of the spy. There was some static, then voices. A sort of growl. A familiar growl. 

“Ugh, okay, so what did you tell him then?” The frustrated and tired voice of King Varian came from the device. East was confused by the look on Wrathion’s face, frozen almost. 

“Ah, dat be him then, ah?” She spoke, but was quickly shushed. She shrugged, taking that as yes. 

“Well, my King, considering the orders we were given, we brought him back to the Admiral.” Whomever Varian was speaking too sounded like a guard or common soldier, clearly nervous in front of his king. 

“And?” Varian pressed on.

“And by morning he was missing again.” The soldier, wrathion decided, gulped. “No witnesses despite the entire area being guarded, the door had been locked by the Admiral, but apparently he found a way out through the only window in the room. He left a note, which I believe the Admiral has right now.”

“What did the note say?”

“I am not sure, sir.”

Varian huffed, paused, then continued. “Next time you portal back here, make sure either Admiral Taylor himself appears, or at least a detailed report including that note.”

Ah, so a mage? Poor mage. 

“Yes, of course, my king.” The mage replied. “I will make sure you receive an update by tonight.”

“I will be waiting,” Varian said, then dismissed the mage. "Remember, this is my son we are talking about."

Wrathion continued to listen on, the recording going on for another ten minutes of Varian talking to people, at least one a nobel, possibly a supervisor to the crown, and one of Anduin’s teachers? Some of the audio gets a bit fuzzy, and the people Varian speaks too are difficult to hear, but they didn’t matter. What mattered was that Wrathion found it. He found a recording of Varian’s voice. He didn’t want to waste any time, quickly standing up, shoving the photos into the box along with the recorder. 

“Are you leaving? Now?” West asked, not yet done with her meal. 

“Yes! I’ve found it!” Wrathion shouted, leaving the room. 

East sighed, “Do we follow?”

West smiled, “It is our job.”

“Damn.” East frowned. The two left quickly in order to catch up with the prince, however they didn’t need to hurry too much, they knew exactly where he was going. 

-...-

Back in the Xenedar, King Anduin laid against the board of his bed, in light cloth clothing, distracted from his reading, the book he had been holding now open on the bedside table. Currently he played with his arm, his right arm, the metal from his prosthetic slowly showing signs of rust. He’d have to get the thing upgraded, it’s been awhile since anyone saw to it. His left leg too, which he’d lost around the same time as his arm. The last two void wars had taken their toll on him, but he’s survived for now.   
By now, both of the void wars started to blur together, Anduin often forgetting if one event took place in the first or second war. He was pretty sure he’d lost his limbs in the second war, but there was doubt. The event itself, he remembered like it was yesterday. Cornered by the enemy, separated from any ally, weak and unable to properly fend for himself. He’d hidden within a dirt hole in the ground created by the bomb that almost killed him, the light being the only shield that kept his soul from the void. By the time he’d been found, hours later, he was out cold, his right arm and left leg were torn and infected and broken.  
Anduin remembered waking up a few days later, alive, surrounded by his allies, worried sick about him. Genn, Jaina, Velen, Shaw, Baine, Taelia, even his daughter., no. this must have been the first void war. Mekkatorque spent the next few days on mechanical prosthetics for the high king, the very best of gnomish technology, and Anduin cherished his gift. Mekkatorque continued to make upgrades and repairs until his passing, and since then Anduin has hardly had the time and peace of mind to find the right person to continue his work. Anduin wasn’t clueless on how to care for his prosthetics, but his care would eventually not be enough.   
Anduin crossed his legs, staring at the contrast of fresh and metal. Though memories of the past usually caused him sorrow, he felt more at peace. The fire light flickered, the wooden wick making a soothing crackle that aided Anduin with his anxiousness greatly. There was also a bit of a buzz in his system, which helped out too.   
He didn’t drink much these days. As he had learned early on, drinking was a difficult habit to break, and a habit he regret ever forming. He used to push for his father to quit his alcoholism, and while he believed Varian tried hard to hold back, Anduin knew that Varian was never able to stop completely. Anduin also has believed he himself would have never fallen to the same low as his father, but surprises happen. It started with his father’s death, a drink or two he sought for whatever reason, and eventually it trapped him too. After the war against Sylvanas had officially ended, and it seemed Ashzara’s army would be no more, was when he felt enough strength to start his recovery. Recovery from the lowest years of his life. 

“ANDUIN!” 

Anduin jumped, his attention returning from his memories, to the humanoid standing before him. Wrathion had appeared, barging into his room, the guards at the door giving him concerned looks. 

“Wrathion!” Anduin, despite knowing he was safe with the dragon, still did not like being startled like that, and found it almost difficult not to revert to his scolding dad voice, or angry king voice. There was a difference at one point in time. “What did i tell you about-”

“Unimportant, my dear king, you must look at this!” Wrathion apparently couldn’t wait, and Anduin, giving a second to calm his nerves, and his heart, found Wrathion’s excitement funny. It was so childlike in this moment, like when a child decides they will do anything to get you to look at their drawing. His daughter and grandchildren had both been just like this.

Placed on his lap, a box, old and dusty but recently bothered. Anduin looked at the box, then to Wrathion, who stared at him, pushing him onward. The guards by this point turned back to their positions, the door closed. 

“Alright…” Anduin pulled open the folds, looking inside, finding photos, and a recorder. 

Anduin reached for the photos first, a smile appearing on his face when he realized what and who these people in the photos were. He saw so many old faces, people he knew well, all living their own lives, and he started laughing. These were quite frankly adorable. 

“Where did you find these? I love them, Wrathion.” Anduin dug more into the box, pulling out more photos, disregarding the recorder. 

“Apparently in an old archive room under New Lordaeron.” Wrathion answered. “East and West found them after extensive searching.”

“You’ll have to thank them for me.” Anduin held up a photo of himself. Oh, he looked so young.

“Well, I’m sure they’ll hear you.” Wrathion reminded Anduin that both his bodyguards were usually within hearing range. 

“Oh, of course.” Anduin was now shifting through a few photos of Orgrimmar, a few familiar faces but most citizens going about their daily lives. “East, West, you will forever have my thanks. I can think of no greater gift then all of these, aha!”

Wrathion wanted to pull out the recorder now, but watching Anduin grin at the photos made Wrathion happy. Anduin spent at least five minutes before reaching the end of the photos. 

“I’ve never thought the idea of being watched and spied on was comforting, but by the light, I am not mad about it now.” He shuffled them into a stack, the stack then falling, and Anduin then turning it into two stable stacks. He placed carefully back into the box. “When I find the time, I’ll have to make a photo album of these.”

Anduin then turned his attention to the recorder, and Wrathion couldn’t help but scoot a little closer. 

“That, my dear, is a single recorder from a group of 25. Each holding at least half an hour of recordings made by Horde spies.” Wrathion smiled. “The rest were trash, trust me, but this one, THiS One, I know you will have great interest in.” 

Anduin seemed a bit confused, Wrathion unsure if Anduin had forgotten his realization from months ago, or if it just had not clicked yet. Maybe it had, but he didn’t believe it. Anduin looked at the recorder, turning it on, and listening. 

“Wait, no, no no no, no.” Wrathion took the recording, beginning to wind it forward, searching for the part he was specifically talking about. There was too much boring shit at the start of the recording for Wrathion to go through again. ‘

“Ah, okay then.” Anduin waited patiently as Wrathion fiddled with the thing. For a second, Wrathion almost thought he’d broken it, before he got it to work again, and Anduin laughed. Poor dragon. 

“Okay, here!” Wrathion, finally satisfied, handed it back to Anduin. 

Anduin held it carefully, listening, looking from the device back to Wrathion. The end of a part came with a sudden pause, then a bit of noise, and then a familiar growl, a familiar voice. As the voice of Varian Wrynn was replayed, Anduin’s face changed in expression, and tears were beginning to fall from his chin. Anduin looked down at the recorder, in this moment the small device becoming the only thing in the entire world he cared about. Every second, every word, for as long as Varian’s voice was heard, Anduin was silent, his tears silent, everything silent.   
As the voice recording ended, Anduin’s tears no longer stayed silent, and the elderly human covered his face, sobbing. Wrathion felt a bit of pain watching his love cry, but he knew these were not just tears of sorrow, but tears of joy. When Anduin finally calmed down, Wrathion had moved the box to the end of the bed, and sat next to Anduin, his hand on Anduin’s metal leg. 

“I didn’t believe you.” Anduin finally spoke after what seemed like hours. “I knew you would look, but I believed there was nothing to be found.” 

“There is nothing I can’t do, young king.” Wrathion smirked. 

“You dumbass.” Anduin laughed. “What would I do without you?” 

“A question I don’t wish to know the answer to, my dear.” Wrathion replied. 

Anduin gazed at the recorder, then leaned over to place it within the drawers of his night stand. Anduin wished to listen to it again, but needed to calm himself. He would probably be listening to it every night from now on. Anduin was usually amazing with his words, but at the moment finding things to say felt difficult. 

“So,” Wrathion began, “I don’t suppose you would have a place for me to stay this night. It has gotten rather late, flying a this hour would be such a pain.” 

Anduin hugged Wrathion, the dragon freezing at the contact, but then relaxing, because Anduin was the only person in existence who could get away with hugging him and not die. Anduin’s head lay on Wrathion’s chest. 

“You have a place to stay as long as I do.” He mumbled into Wrathion’s clothes. 

Wrathion hadn’t expect a reply that sounded so genuine, and with that, the dragon hugged back. 

“Your kindness has never faltered, my love.” 

-...-

**Author's Note:**

> So a lot of the events mentioned in this story are sort of my hope or idea of Anduin and Azeroth's future? If I got to write it, anyway. This may just end up a oneshot, BUT I do have one or two more ideas I could tack on as a few more chapters if anyone seems interested in this. Let me know, I would love to know what you thought and if you'd read more. <3


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